


Crown Jewel

by devilinthedetails



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Dominion Jewel, Family, Father & Son - Freeform, Fear, Gen, Love, Mischief, Parental Discipline, References to Child Abuse, parenting struggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 03:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12762453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Jonathan struggles with his children's curiosity and stubbornness.





	Crown Jewel

Crown Jewel 

It was the ringing inside his head—like alarum bells only he could hear echoing incessantly in his eardrums—of the ward spells he had placed to alert him if anyone attempted to enter the private magical research room he had tucked deep in the royal quarters that brought Jonathan racing toward the place where he kept his most powerful and dangerous treasure, the bane and gift of his reign, the blessing and curse of the gods: the Dominion Jewel. 

Since the guards stationed around the royal quarters would have prevented any intruders from penetrating this far into the royal living areas, Jonathan figured that it had to be one of his mischievous offspring trying to create new heights of mayhem since Thayet would have just asked to borrow his key if she wanted to go into his magical storehouse. 

He expected to see Jasson, who was four and curious about everything from why the sky was blue and the grass green to matters of state, or Liam, who was even more of a troublemaker at three than he had been during what the nursemaids referred to with affectionate aggravation as his terrible twos, fumbling with the lock around the door spelled to block entry. Instead, he saw that the lock was hanging open even though the door to his magical room was shut. 

Whoever had broken into his study had deft enough control over his or her Gift to pick a magical lock but not enough knowledge to detect Jonathan’s ward spells, Jonathan realized with a scowl, which mean the miscreant had to be either Roald or Kally. Making a mental note to increase the power and number of spells on the lock to further childproof the room, Jonathan flung open the door and was horrified to see his oldest son climbing a bookshelf (filled with tomes on arcane magic) to try to reach the Dominion Jewel stored in a case on the top that would have burned the hands of any unauthorized person who touched it like blazebalm. 

“Roald!” snapped Jonathan. He tried, Mithros knew, not to raise his voice with his children, but he considered this an exceptionally distressing circumstance. 

Roald started at his shout and might have toppled off the shelf he was perched upon if Jonathan hadn’t snatched him up in his arms. Holding his blessedly unhurt six-year-old close to his chest, Jonathan demanded as he sank, weak-kneed, into a plush chair behind his desk, “What in the name of Mithros were you doing, son?” 

“I was just trying to touch the Jewel, Papa.” Roald stared at Jonathan with innocent eyes that looked mystified about Jonathan’s anger, and his son’s lack of fear—lack of understanding of how dangerous what he had been doing was and how harmful the Dominion Jewel was even when wielded for the noblest of purposes—chilled Jonathan to the bone marrow. He would have to make his son comprehend the enormity of what he had done wrong somehow. 

“You know you aren’t supposed to enter a room with a spelled lock on it without permission.” Jonathan glared sternly down at Roald, who ducked his head at the reprimand. “You’ve also been told that the Dominion Jewel is dangerous. It caused a famine that lasted years the only time I’ve used it, and you know that too.” 

“I just wanted to touch it, Papa.” Roald bit his trembling lower lip. “That’s all. I didn’t want to use it.” 

Praying for patience as he tried to wrap his mind around the mysterious motivations of a six-year-old, Jonathan sighed. “Why would you want to touch it so badly, Roald?” 

“I’ve been reading a lot of stories about it,” Roald explained softly, addressing his kneecaps more than Jonathan. 

“You’re too young to be reading such stories.” Jonathan shook his head. “I’ll have to talk to your tutors about the material they’ve been assigning you.” 

“I haven’t been reading about it for tutors, Papa.” Roald was all earnestness. “I found the stories in the library for fun. Godsfather Gary showed me how to find books on any topic I want in the records at the library.” 

Pinching the bridge of his nose as he reminded himself to have a word with his cousin the Prime Minister about how any knowledge shared with Conte children would inevitably be used for nefarious ends, Jonathan ordered crisply, “I don’t want you reading any more books about the Dominion Jewel until you are at least ten, and I don’t ever want you in this room again or trying to touch the Dominion Jewel without my permission. Understand, son?” 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” whispered Roald, subdued and formal as he often was after a reproach from either of his parents, but Jonathan wasn’t satisfied. 

“That’s not good enough, Roald.” Jonathan gave his son’s shoulders a slight shake. “How will I know that you won’t do anything like this again?” 

“Because you told me not to.” Roald’s forehead furrowed as he cocked his head hesitantly up at his father. “Because I’m not allowed, Your Majesty.” 

“You knew you weren’t allowed to enter this study without permission, and you must’ve guessed that trying to touch the Jewel was forbidden too or you wouldn’t have snuck about like a thief.” Jonathan’s temper flashed like lightning when a tiny nod from his son confirmed his suspicion. “I don’t see why you’d act any differently this time around. I’m going to have to do something to make you afraid to come back in here and try to touch the Jewel.” 

“What do you want to do, Your Majesty?” Roald’s face was pale as a ghost, a sure sign all blood had drained from it. 

“I don’t want to spank you.” Jonathan steeled his resolve by reminding himself of how much of a danger Roald had been to himself today. “But I’m going to have to, son.” 

Roald’s eyes went wide and wet at this pronouncement, and Jonathan couldn’t blame him since Jonathan had never so much as threatened to spank any of his children before, and the mild-mannered, compliant Roald would’ve been the last of his offspring that he would’ve envisioned he would ever feel compelled to use corporal punishment upon, but fate had a cruel sense of irony. 

Kally would’ve screamed and kicked at any part of him she could reach. Liam would’ve twisted out of his grip and run away on legs still pudgy with baby fat. Jasson with his sharp mind and sharper tongue would’ve marshaled an impromptu army of arguments about why his father couldn’t spank him. 

Roald didn’t resist but stiffly submitted as Jonathan flipped him around and delivered six swift, searing sets to the seat of his breeches, and that somehow made it worse than if he had struggled tooth and nail against the discipline. The only concession to Conte stubbornness Roald displayed was a stoic refusal to cry as Jonathan spanked him, but Jonathan wasn’t sure whether that was a manifestation of his son’s keen sense of justice, a quiet defiance, or both. 

Once he was done discipling his son, Jonathan pulled Roald into a hug. He thought that Roald might break down in tears or at least melt into his embrace now that the spanking was over and the comfort had begun, but Roald endured his hug with the same stiffness he had the spanking. 

“Go to your bedroom, Roald.” Jonathan set his son on the floor, reluctant to cuddle a child who clearly did not want to be held. “No supper for you tonight.” 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Roald attempted a bow but broke off midway through with a wince. 

After Roald departed, Jonathan buried his head in his palms, stunned that he had actually struck his son and torn by guilt as he contemplated whether he could’ve handled the situation differently—more fairly or more mercifully. Being a father was the only job more challenging than being a king, especially when you were parenting a future king, Jonathan though with a wry edge. 

He was so wrapped in his own misery that he didn’t notice Thayet slip through the door Roald had left ajar until she had settled herself on the desk in front of him. 

“You spanked Roald.” Thayet’s hazel eyes were hard and accusing. She was in what Jonathan thought of as her Mama Bear mood, where her only concern was protecting her cubs whether by tooth or by claw. Of course, she was five months pregnant with their sixth child, and pregnancy tended to rouse her maternal instincts and ferocity. “When he was born, you swore to me that you wouldn’t hit him or any other children we might have.”

“He was trying to touch the cursed Dominion Jewel, Thayet,” hissed Jonathan, convinced that she should be scolding her eldest son, not him, since Roald was a bigger hazard to himself than Jonathan was to him. “If he had gotten much closer to doing it, he would’ve burned his hands off.” 

“We’re talking about your bad decisions, not Roald’s.” Thayet was implacable as her fists flew to her hips. “I expect bad decisions from a six-year-old, but I don’t expect them from you.” 

“I gave him some taps on the bottom.” Jon glowered at her even though her voice sounded remarkably like his conscience. “You’re reacting as if I skinned him alive.” 

“My father used to slap me around for any reason or no reason at all.” Shadows descended upon Thayet’s face and Jonathan knew that she was remembering the broken furniture and the slammed doors that accompanied all her father’s violent displays of temper. “I never understood why, and I definitely never learned whatever lesson he was trying to teach me in his misguided way. A little bit of the love, respect, and trust I should’ve had for him died with each smack to be replaced by a poor substitute, fear. Fear can’t exist alongside love, respect, and trust, Jon. Fear is anathema to those.” 

“I don’t want Roald to fear me.” Jonathan massaged his throbbing temples as he felt the beginnings of a migraine. “I just want him to obey me so he doesn’t burn off his hands by trying to touch the Dominion Jewel.” 

“You’re a good father, Jon.” Thayet’s gaze was paradoxically calming and challenging as she clasped Jonathan’s hands between her own. “I won’t deny that you’ve done more to raise the children than I have when I’m away fighting with the Riders and that in many way you’re better at dealing with them, but know that I won’t tolerate you hitting any of our children again. It’s a hill I’m prepared to die on.” 

“Did you tell Roald this?” Jonathan’s lips and brain were numb. 

“No.” Thayet shook her head. “I’m not going to undermine your authority with him by telling him that I think you didn’t discipline him fairly. Parents have to present a unified front about such things even if they disagree. Family discord can damage children as much as hitting can, Jon. You can speak to Roald yourself.” 

“Thank you, dear.” Jonathan appreciated that this was a concession for her. “I’ll speak to Roald after supper once he and I have more time to think and cool down.” 

“Do whatever you believe is best.” Thayet, heavy with child, levered off the desk with some ungainliness. “Just never let me hear about you lifting so much as a finger against our children again.” 

She spun on her heel and swept out of the room, proud K’miri nose in the air. Apparently she wasn’t the only one miffed at him, because when the bell chimed for dinner, one of the nursemaids, Aimee, who had Liam and Jasson clinging to the folds of her skirt, said, “Kally wishes to be excused from supper, Your Majesties. She insists that she is feeling unwell.” 

Something in her phrasing alerted Jonathan to the fact that Kally wasn’t truly ill, but Thayet was either oblivious to the nuance or, more likely, determined to watch her husband squirm like an earthworm in a puddle. “What ails her?” asked Thayet. 

“She doesn’t have a fever, she hasn’t been sick, and all she’ll say is that she has a headache though she refuses to see a healer, Your Majesty,” Aimee answered as she coaxed Jasson and Liam into their chairs. “I suspect what is really bothering her is whatever has Roald laying on his side in bed.” 

“Thank you, Aimee. That will be all.” Jonathan thought he deserved praise for keeping his tone steady as Thayet glared daggers at him across the table. 

As Aimee curtsied and disappeared, Jonathan noted inwardly that he shouldn’t have been surprised that Kally was sitting out supper in solidarity with her older brother’s suffering. Kally and Roald were as close as siblings could be, and Jonathan often thought they were each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Where Roald was soft-spoken, Kally was bold. Where Roald was stable, Kally was mercurial. Where Roald was patient, Kally was boundless energy. Where Roald was diplomatic, Kally didn’t care whose plumage she ruffled. Two siblings couldn’t have been more different or more devoted to one another. 

Dinner continued to be an uphill battle in the rain for Jonathan as he fought to persuade a headstrong Jasson that nudging asparagus around your plate wasn’t the same as eating it and a rebellious Liam that meat sauce was for dipping, not for painting the silk tablecloth. Lianne, already abed, posed no problem. 

After supper, it was with some trepidation that Jonathan entered Roald’s room, which was connected to Kally’s by a door that was almost always open. Kally must have recovered from her headache very rapidly for she was sitting cross-legged on Roald’s bed while he curled into his pillows. Roald and Kally were talking softly to one another but trailed off immediately when he shut the door behind him. 

“I’m happy to see you’re feeling better already, Kally.” Jonathan looked at his daughter with gentle humor. “Why don’t you run along to the kitchens and get some food to celebrate your quick recovery?” 

“No.” Kally’s chin lifted obstinately. “I’m not hungry, Papa, and I’m not going to leave you alone with Roald again after you hurt him.” 

Jonathan took a deep breath to prevent himself from responding to his daughter’s temper with his own. “That was more of an order than a request, my dear. Go get something to eat.” 

“What if I disobey?” Kally flared up like dry grass sparked by a flame. “Will you hit me like you did Roald, Papa?” 

“I’m not going to hit you.” Jonathan thought that bashing his head against a stone wall for an hour would be less painful than trying to exert control over children that had inherited stubbornness from him and Thayet. 

“Why not?” Kally’s blue eyes—so reminiscent of his own that it never failed to disconcert him at moments such as these—scorched into him. “‘Cause”—Kally’s diction declined when she was agitated unlike Roald’s, which remained perfect no matter what stress he might have felt—“I’m a girl? ‘Cause that’s stupid.” 

Before Jonathan could reply with mounting impatience, Roald patted Kally’s knee. “Do me a favor and get something to eat, Kally. I know you’re hungry. I could hear your stomach growling earlier.” 

Roald’s gentleness achieved what Jonathan’s commands couldn’t for Kally, who Jonathan suspected would do anything for her older brother as he would for her, leapt off the bed, and, shooting her father a final, burning glare, left in search of food. 

“Roald.” Jonathan sat down on the spot Kally had vacated and squeezed his son’s shoulders. “I shouldn’t have spanked you. I’d no right to do that, and I apologize.” 

“You’re my father.” Roald frowned in confusion. “You’d every right to spank me, Papa.” 

Marveling not for the first time at how he and Thayet had managed to produce a far more traditionally-minded heir, Jonathan decided not to argue the point as he rubbed his son’s back. “What I meant was I shouldn’t have spanked you, son.” 

“I shouldn’t have given you a reason to, Papa.” Roald’s voice and eyes were too somber for a boy of six. “What I did was naughty and dangerous.” 

“It was,” agreed Jonathan, stroking a lock of black hair away from Roald’s forehead. “That still doesn’t mean I should’ve spanked you. I don’t want you to fear me, Roald.” 

“The Mithran priests say that children who don’t fear their fathers are doomed in the afterlife, Papa.” Roald shot Jonathan a sidelong glance, and Jonathan suddenly remembered all the lectures had had received from the priests as a child about how Mithros was like a father to everyone and how if you wanted to know what Mithros was like you just had to look at your own father. Doubtlessly the priests wanted children to fear their fathers so they would grow up to fear Mithros’ wrath if they behaved unjustly, but Jonathan could only recall seeing love and peace in his father’s eyes when he was small. That made him wonder what his own son saw when he looked up at him with those wide ocean eyes. 

“The Mithran priests know a lot about Mithros, but”—he tapped his son’s nose lightly, drawing a smile from Roald—“they don’t know enough to fill an acorn about fatherhood. They aren’t allowed to have children.” 

“I won’t tell the priests you said that, Papa.” Roald’s words were serious but his eyes were shining. “They wouldn’t like that very much.” 

“No, I don’t suppose they would.” Jonathan grinned as he pulled his son against his chest in a hug. “I love you, Roald, and nothing you do could ever change that.” 

“I love you too, Papa.” Roald wrapped his slender arms around Jonathan. Leaning his head against his father’s ear, he murmured, “I want to be just like you when I grow up.” 

“I want you to grow up to be better than me.” Kissing his son’s hair, Jonathan thought that his heir was so tiny to carry all his and Thayet’s big dreams of a brighter future for the kingdom. “I’m very ambitious, son, and you should be too.”


End file.
